


Looking the Part / Part 2

by bluejay_unit



Series: Looking the Part [2]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Banter, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:41:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22642783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluejay_unit/pseuds/bluejay_unit
Summary: “I would’ve called it a ‘sampling menu of queer couture’ but I didn’t want to intimidate you.”Patrick tries not to smile. “David, I’m sorry, but I haven’t been intimidated by you since you left me 13 voicemails the day after we met.”David helps Patrick find his look for going to pride.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: Looking the Part [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1628794
Comments: 16
Kudos: 168





	Looking the Part / Part 2

**Author's Note:**

> *shows up 8 months late with a sequel 8 times long as the original to win the Most Creative Title Award*

For the next few days, David is preoccupied with planning Patrick’s look. There are so many possibilities and David doesn’t know where to start, or what he would actually like. He makes a private Pinterest board and starts pulling together some ideas.

He’s sitting on the couch in the backroom of the store on his laptop, scrolling through for some more inspiration. 

Patrick comes in from behind the counter. “Hey, I’m about to head out, what d’you want for lunch-,” David quickly closes the laptop as he enters the room.

“You know I don’t care if you watch porn, but maybe not _during_ store hours?” Patrick teases nonchalantly. He hadn’t seen much on the screen, but he’d caught a glimpse of shirtless guys.

David’s ears go red. “I’m not, it wasn’t… we’re at _work_!”

Patrick sits next to him on the couch. “Were you _doing_ work?”

David shoots him a look. “…Yes. Actually, I was thinking about your outfit for next weekend. Do you want to go shopping tonight?”

“Oh…” Patrick trails off, shrugging uncomfortably. “Can’t you just pick something out?”

“Well, you’ve got to try stuff on. I don’t know what fits you, or what you’ll like.”

He tilts his head. “Maybe we could do that at my place? And just return what doesn’t work?” Patrick winces internally at himself, he doesn’t know why he’s making this so difficult. They’re going to _pride_ , for god’s sake, he wants to be _out and proud_ , not be the old Patrick who would defensively insist his shirts were _salmon_ , not pink. How was he going to wear this stuff in public, when he was too scared to try it on in the store? But the thought of trying to create his new look in the fitting room of some fancy boutique in Elmdale with a bunch of people around just makes him sweaty with stress. He’ll get there, he promises himself. He just needs to get used to it in his own space (and hopefully get David’s approval of his look) first.

“I guess I can order some options online,” David says. “We can have our own little fashion montage at your place.”

* * *

Patrick sits in his apartment, waiting for David to arrive. He stares at the stack of boxes in the corner, which he was under strict instructions not to open until David got there. They’d been arriving for the past two days, including a few at the store, which would get snatched out of his hands before he could open them. He’d been nervous about tonight, but as package after package arrived, he could feel his excitement growing too.

Patrick debated what he should wear at the start of this outfit-planning session, he’d been through more permutations of the things in his closet than he had before their first date. He ultimately decided he was going to be taking it off anyway and ended up in a normal denim and blue shirt combo, though he intentionally chose a good pair of jeans he’s sure he’d caught David staring at him in more than once.

There was a knock on the door. Patrick opened it.

“Hi,” David says, clutching a bag of even more stuff, leaning in for a kiss.

“Mm, hi,” he answers, stepping back to let him in. “How much stuff did you order? It’s starting to feel like Christmas.”

David sets his bag down. “Well, all of pride month is basically gay christmas, so that’s pretty much accurate.”

Patrick smiles, David begins sorting through the boxes. “But I’m actually going to be opening all these boxes myself, because I’ve got several curated looks for you that all came separately. We can start with those, see what you like, and mix and match from there.”

He pulls out a travel garment bag and a safety box cutter from the store. Patrick stands there awkwardly, watching him open boxes and pull some pieces into the bag, being careful not to let him see anything.

“Thanks for doing all this,” he says, as David opens the fourth box.

“Are you kidding? I should be thanking you, I haven’t had this good of an excuse for a shopping spree in ages.” He stands, zipping the full garment bag. “But by all means, please continue to see me as a thoughtful, generous person for going through the _tremendous hardship_ of getting to play personal stylist to my boyfriend.” He steps closer to Patrick, trapping him in with one hand splayed against the wall above his shoulder. “It’ll be a hassle, but, for you I will make the sacrifice.”

“I’m sure you’ll get through it somehow,” Patrick teases back, and reels him in for a kiss. David kisses him back happily, but when Patrick tries to coax his mouth open, David pulls back.

“You can’t be distracting me _already_ ; we have a lot of outfits to get through.” He presses the garment bag into his hands. “Try this on,” he nods to the bathroom behind him, “Then come show me?”

Patrick nods and steps backward through the curtain. David leans against the doorjamb, facing the opposite way.

Hanging the bag on the shower curtain rod, Patrick unzips the bag. He didn’t know what he thought David would choose. Maybe he’d subconsciously pictured something like David’s own clothes, but this definitely wasn’t that.

On the hanger was a baby blue crop top with a small light pink heart in the middle, thin white suspenders, and dark jean shorts. He takes a deep breath, feeling nerves turn to excitement as he puts them all on. The shorts are high-waisted, but _very_ short. He can tell the top’s supposed to be loose fitting, but it feels boxy and hangs on him weird, and he’s not used to his midriff being cold.

“I don’t…I don’t think it fits,” he calls out to David.

“It’s supposed to be short.” He can hear the smile in David’s voice. And David can probably hear him when Patrick mumbles back that he _knows what a crop top is, David,_ because he responds, “Can I see?”

Patrick pauses, looking with some dismay in the mirror. “Promise you’ll still be attracted to me?” he asks, being sure to make it sound like he’s joking, but kinda not.

David snorts. “Please, if there’s anything you could wear that could change that, it would’ve been those boring jeans and button downs you always wear. And that hasn’t worked because now I sorta have a thing for them.”

“A _thing_ , huh?” Patrick says, and pulls back the curtain.

It feels like a long moment when he steps out of the bathroom and goes under David’s scrutiny.

“Ok, so, this doesn’t fit,” David finally admits, pinching the shoulders of the top and pulling them up from where they’ve slumped down on his shoulders. “But these are really working for me.” He taps the waistband of the shorts with one finger. “What do you think?”

“They’re…shorter than I’m used to,” Patrick says with a smile. “You really think I pull them off?”

David nods rapidly, deciding between giving him actual reassurance or _You pull them off, and I’ll pull them off of you_ reassurance.

“…It works for you. We’ll call these a maybe.” He takes the empty garment bag and hands him another full one. “Here, next one.”

* * *

He tries on several more outfits, with a wide variety of styles and aesthetics. They start to find a rhythm for the evening, David assembling an outfit in the garment bag while Patrick changes in the bathroom, then comes out to show it off.

After he tries the next outfit, he turns around and sees David hiding something behind his back.

“Ok, so I wouldn’t actually recommend you wear these this weekend, at least not without a lot of practicing and wearing-in first,” David says, gesturing at what he’s holding, “But in the interest of giving you the full range of options…”

He swings his arms around, and Patrick looks down to see he’s holding a pair of tall black high heels.

Patrick doesn’t want to laugh. “Ok, practicing, yeah. I don’t know if my uh, skills are up to par, but I’ll give it a shot.”

He doesn’t bother going back into the bathroom, just sits down and straps the shoes on. He stands up and wobbles, and David holds his arm out for him to steady himself on. He takes a few awkward steps with David’s support, feeling like he’s stomping around unnaturally.

“Try to walk with your normal rhythm,” David says, “They’re not stilts, you can shift your weight more, heel to toe.”

Patrick tries and the next steps come a bit more easily, and he feels more balanced. He loosens his grip on David’s arm and tries to walk a tiny bit faster. Then his next step lands wrong and the shoe twists under him, and suddenly he’s going down. David catches him before he stumbles all the way to the floor, bringing him back up like he’d just dipped him in a dance.

Patrick looks down at the heels, _devil shoes_ , then back up at David in horror.

“People wear these things _everyday?_ ”

David nods solemnly. “And it gives them great calves,” he says.

* * *

Patrick perks up the next time he comes out of the bathroom and sees David getting something out of his own overnight bag, instead of one of the many boxes. Patrick raises his eyebrows as he walks over with the garment bag, David just shrugs.

“Be careful with it,” is all he says, as he puts the hanger in Patrick’s hands.

Patrick spends extra time in the bathroom, trying to align the black fuzzy sweater just right. It’s one he can remember David wearing, though just barely, it’s not in his usual rotation of favorites. The sleeves are too long on him, but he doesn’t dare roll them up, for fear of stretching them out.

When he comes out to show it off, David doesn’t really manage to suppress a laugh, though it’s clear he tries.

Patrick grimaces and looks down. “I thought you’d like this one.” He tries to put his hands in his pockets, but the sleeves are in the way. He flaps his arms to free them in frustration. David has to cover his face to hide his laugh. Ok, Patrick supposes it looks a little ridiculous.

“I was hoping you’d help me _not_ make a fool of myself,” he mutters.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” David says, standing and putting his hands on Patrick’s shoulders, stroking lightly down his arms. “I thought I’d like it too, but it’s just so not you. Never mind. Next one!”

* * *

“What do you think?” Patrick says, walking out of the bathroom in a low, white v-neck and black skinny jeans, a pair of mirrored aviator sunglasses perched on his head. He points to the glasses, “I would wear these, but they’re too dark to see in here.”

David steps up to him, delicately plucking the glasses from his head. “You’re not supposed to wear them. They’re an accessory, they go _here_.” He folds the sunglasses and hooks them on the front of his shirt, dragging the v-neck down a little bit further.

Patrick looks around the room, noticing for the first time that, after trying on plenty of outfits, his apartment looks like a tornado hit a department store, clothes and bags strewn on every available surface.

“Wow, you really got quite the variety here, huh?”

David hums in response. “I would’ve called it a ‘sampling menu of queer couture’ but I didn’t want to intimidate you.”

Patrick tries not to smile. “David, I’m sorry, but I haven’t been intimidated by you since you left me 13 voicemails the day after we met.”

“ _Dammit_ ,” David stage-whispers, plunking down dramatically in a chair by the table. “Will you please be so kind as to forget that ever happened?”

“Unlikely,” Patrick answers, adjusting his shirt as he looks through the open curtain to the mirror in the bathroom. “That’s what convinced me to come back and try and help you with the store. Plus, I still listen to them occasionally.”

David tips his head back. “Ugh, then how am I supposed to make you think I’m cool? Wait, what’d you mean you _still listen to them,_ you’re not telling me you _saved_ those?”

“Of course I saved them!”

“Why? Why would you do such a thing?”

“In case I need blackmail material, obviously,” Patrick says, just for the scandalized look on David’s face.

“Rude! And here I am, being so nice to you.” David grabs Patrick’s phone off the table, and makes like he’s going to delete them, though he thinks he wouldn’t actually do it, probably.

Patrick snatches the phone out of his hand easily, though David does make him lean halfway across his lap to reach it, just for the close up view of how that v-neck is working for him.

“You _know_ why,” Patrick says with an affectionate eye roll.

“Is it because you don’t know how to delete your voicemails?”

Patrick pouts. “I cleaned out my inbox last week!”

“You mean after Stevie showed you how. And you call yourself a millennial.” David begins gathering pieces for the next outfit from the table in front of him. “Is it because you enjoy torturing me with reminders of my own embarrassments?”

“Mmm, getting warmer.”

David sets the outfit down in his lap, and responds softer, but still teasing, “Is it because you’re a sentimental dork who makes me think things like framed business licenses and monthly anniversaries are cute when they really shouldn’t be?”

Patrick smiles. “That’s the ticket.” He leans down to kiss David quickly on the cheek, with enough force to tilt his head to the side. David tries to glower at him, but only manages to give him that crooked smile. He hands Patrick the outfit bag and in one fluid gesture, snaps and points at the bathroom.

* * *

David paces as he waits for Patrick to come out in the next outfit. He’s taking what feels like ages, though that may be just because David’s more nervous about this one. He’s given him a lot of things tonight he knows are pushing Patrick out of his comfort zone, and he fears this one may just be too much, too fast. He also doesn’t want it to seem like he’s doing this for selfish reasons, though obviously he’s enjoying it.

He’s so caught up in his worry that he doesn’t hear Patrick step out of the bathroom until he says, “David, this isn’t even clothes.”

David turns around, stunned breathless for a moment at the sight of Patrick standing there, in the jeans from the last outfit and shirtless, with a leather bar across his chest.

“To be fair, I didn’t say I was getting you clothes, I said I was arranging things you’d look good in so…” David trails off, locking eyes with Patrick. He’s smirking at him, but there’s heat in his gaze, something electrifying even from the other side of the room. Why is he still on the opposite side of the room? David takes a step closer, and stops.

“So,” Patrick says, fighting the urge to put his hands in his pockets, standing up straighter than normal, in a posture this harness seems to inspire. “Do you like it?”

“I asked you first,” David responds, taking another step closer.

Patrick tilts his head. “I don’t think you did, though.”

“It was implied,” he answers, waving his hands. They lock eyes for another long moment, and it feels ridiculous that he’s still so far away, but David’s feet feel magnetized to the floor.

“Well, I don’t think I’ll be wearing this in public,” Patrick says eventually.

“That’s not really an answer.” David steps within reaching distance now, but still holds back.

“Isn’t it?” he responds distractedly, voice dropped to a near whisper, eyes roaming over David.

David breaks and grabs the bar, with the intent of hauling him close, but Patrick’s standing still so firmly he more or less hauls himself in instead, but it doesn’t matter because he’s finally kissing him. Patrick kisses him like he’s got a plan, like he’s been thinking about it all day. David tightens one hand on the leather, but the other lets go and strokes his chest, his arm and back.

Patrick leaves his lips and kisses his cheek and below his ear instead, one hand going into David’s back pocket, and David pulls back an inch.

“I guess I should have saved this one for last…” David says with a breathless laugh, fingers curling around the leather straps. Patrick goes to kiss him on the lips again, but he tilts his head away. “But—,”

“Mmmph,” Patrick whines, forehead thudding onto David’s shoulder.

“I know, I know. One more. Just one more? Then we can…”

“Then we can…?” Patrick teases.

“Then we can see which outfit is your favorite,” he says imperiously, the picture of innocence, chin held aloft. David hands him the garment bag one more time, and shoos him to the bathroom.

* * *

For the first time that night, David doesn’t wait for Patrick to come out of the bathroom. He knocks on the wall, next to the curtain where the door would be. “There’s a part two to this one, if you’re interested.” He calls out.

Patrick pulls back the curtain, but instead of letting him out David joins him in the bathroom, holding a small bag. His eyes flash briefly when he catches sight of Patrick in this outfit, but he does not get distracted. Patrick’s wearing a pair of tight black jeans (that fit so well he’s beginning to wonder if David took his measurements in his sleep or something) and a mesh tank top. It’s a weird mix of feeling exposed and covered, especially compared with the last “outfit”.

David puts his bag down by the sink. “How do you feel about trying some make up?”

“I’d try it,” Patrick says, “Though I wouldn’t really know how…”

“I can do it,” David says quickly, quietly. He unzips the bag and starts taking things out and setting them on the counter. “Nothing too crazy, just to try it out. I have some basic eyeliner, mascara…Oh, and we can try a lip color, if you want.”

He makes it sound like a question. “Sure, sounds good,” Patrick agrees, though he’s not sure what David’s even asking beyond his permission, or what he’s describing would entail. But he wants to find out anyway.

David puts his hands on Patrick’s upper arms and turns him towards himself and the light. David uncaps a tube of moisturizer that Patrick thinks they just got in to sell at the store. He puts a little on his finger and dabs it lightly all over his face, spreading it around. The way David has him turned, Patrick can’t see his reflection in the mirror to see what he’s doing so he just watches David. David is very focused, looking at him the way he normally studies his closet or a product display he’s assembling at the store. It’s an electrifying feeling, being the subject of that intense attention. David can be kind of private about his process for creative tasks or anything he actually works hard at, so Patrick feels like he’s being let in on a secret, getting to see him use his skills up close.

“Close your eyes,” David says softly. He steadies his hand with his pinkie extended on Patrick’s cheek, and Patrick feels the eyeliner pen glide along the tops of his eyelashes, one eye, then the other.

“And open.”

Patrick opens his eyes. He watches David’s gaze dart back and forth between his eyes, checking his work. Then he approaches with the eyeliner pen again, getting very close, then pausing with his hand held up.

“Trust me?” he asks, with the edge of a smile.

“Of course,” Patrick murmurs, without hesitation.

“Look up,” David whispers.

Patrick’s not sure why exactly they’re whispering, though certainly they’ve found themselves in a charged atmosphere, but it’s not just that. The moment feels precious and unguarded, like any outside disruption could shatter it. Suddenly it feels like Patrick’s not the only one being brave and vulnerable right now, that David’s sharing something of himself too.

David traces his lower lashes with the eyeliner, dragging it back in a few places to fully cover the line. When he pulls away Patrick blinks rapidly, eyes watering a bit from the effort of not blinking. David pulls out mascara next and swipes his lower lashes.

“Now eyes wide open, but look down,” David says quietly. Patrick does so and holds his breath as the brush gets very close to his eye, but David swipes it up and out of the way gently. Patrick blinks again, finding it strange that he can he can see his own eyelashes in his peripheral vision in a way he’s not used to noticing.

Then David takes a bunch of little brushes and four lipsticks out of his bag, lining them up on the counter and uncapping one. David takes Patrick’s hand and pulls it closer to him, then swipes the brush on the lipstick before dragging it in one smooth steady line across the back of his hand. Patrick watches in fascination as David frowns at it thoughtfully, then uncaps another lipstick and repeats the process a few more times, until he’s made a set of 4 lines in varying shades.

David studies them, tilting Patrick’s hand this way and that, to get a better look, some lines shimmering when they catch the light.

“These two are too dark for your skin tone,” David says, “And this one’s a bit orange-y… I think we’ll go with this pink. Can I?” He gestures towards him with the brush, and Patrick nods, turning his face more towards him.

David dabs the blush pink lipstick again with the brush, and puts the other hand under Patrick’s chin, gently tilting his face nearer. He carefully traces his cupid’s bow with the brush. He refreshes the brush, then swipes it across his bottom lip with a practiced flick.

“Go like this,” David murmurs, before pressing his lips together in a line, and Patrick copies the motion. When he’s finished, David studies him again, then drags his thumbnail under the corner of Patrick’s mouth, catching a stray bit of color. “Good. What do you think?” He turns them to face the mirror again, standing a bit behind Patrick with his hands on his shoulders.

Patrick stares at his reflection, a bit of a shiver running down his spine. _He looks so different_. The black eyeliner is just a thin line, but it draws attention to his eyes, making his gaze sharper somehow. And the rosy lipstick was just a heightened version of a natural lip color, like he’d just been kissed, and the shimmer caught the glare of the bathroom light. Patrick imagines being someone who could easily walk out in public like this, and while it still tightens his chest in a coil of anxiety, he likes the idea of people being able to look at him and see who he is, see someone who’s confident, even outside of the security of the boy next door role he’s used to inhabiting.

He catches David’s eye in the mirror. He’s studying Patrick very intently, looking a bit proud at his own handiwork, but cautiously waiting for his reaction. Patrick feels an electrifying swoop low in his stomach, and he doesn’t know if the thrill is from liking the way it looks on him or liking the intense way it makes David look at him. For the moment, at least, he doesn’t care if there’s a difference.

“…I like it,” Patrick says, not breaking eye contact. He clears his throat, voice unexpectedly gravelly. David’s gives him a small smile as his hands tighten slowly on his shoulders, each finger going into a different opening in the mesh to touch his skin. “What do you think?”

David licks his lips, eyebrows arching. “I think you look fantastic…” he answers sincerely, voice low.

Patrick swallows hard, watching in the mirror as David brushes his lips, with the lightest of touches, down the side of his face, along his jaw, setting his nerves alight along the way. “And?”

David turns his head, lips barely touching Patrick’s ear as he whispers to admit, “And I’ve been dying to touch you all night.”

Patrick lets out a soft noise, eyes fluttering shut and rocking back into David’s hips behind him. When that gets David to pull him closer, he plants his hands on the bathroom counter in front of him and does it again, more deliberately. He’s unsurprised to find him already hard, having been on a low simmer all night himself. Patrick stumbles a bit trying to follow quickly enough when David tugs him towards his bed.

* * *

“You don’t like it, do you?”

Patrick squints, looking around the room, at their clothes scattered about, at the sheets they’re tangled in, at David sprawled next to him, still breathless. “Well, obviously I _liked_ it.”

“Smart ass. I meant _this_.” David pinches the mesh top he’s still wearing. “The whole look.”

Patrick shrugs. “I don’t know. I mean, it’s certainly _fun_ —,” He raises his eyebrows.

David smiles gently. “…But it’s not you,” he finishes. He’s not disappointed, or even surprised. He didn’t think these things would be Patrick’s style, but when his boyfriend says he wants to experiment with his look, he’s damn well going to help him try.

“I know some people can pull it off. But it just feels like a costume on me. And while I love a good costume, I don’t want to be acting when we go to pride, you know?”

David nods, turning on his side to face him, and Patrick does the same. “I told you it’s ok to wear your usual clothes. Doesn’t make you any less included.”

“I know, I appreciate that. I want to wear _something_ though.”

“Clearly. You can’t show up naked, you know. That _is_ actually against the rules,” David says cheekily.

Patrick rolls his eyes. David takes a slow breath. “I may have some more ideas. That are…less intense than these.” He gestures around the room, at all the outfit options scattered about.

“That sounds great. I trust you.” Patrick leans in to kiss him, though David evades his lips directly and instead kisses him on the cheek and corner of the mouth. Patrick makes a questioning sound.

“Just avoiding that lipstick,” David answers, “It takes some serious scrubbing to get off.”

Patrick raises an eyebrow, eyeing the bright pink marks on David’s face and down his neck. “Oh that ship has sailed, sweetheart.”

“Ugh,” David says, and leans back in to kiss him on the lips.

* * *

The next day is Patrick’s turn to work the store alone, so he leaves in the morning before David wakes up. He’s surprised when he gets back in the evening, that David is still there, and that all the boxes and clothes and general chaos from the night before have mostly been tidied away.

David’s sitting at the kitchen table with a small bag set in front of him. He gets up when Patrick walks in.

“Wow,” Patrick says, “What’s this?”

“My next idea,” he answers, taking the garment bag that was resting on the chair and handing it to him. He’s moving with a restless energy, like he’s not settled on whether its excited or nervous.

Patrick takes the bag and back into the bathroom once more. He hangs it on the shower curtain and unzips the bag and _oh._

It’s a blue button down and jeans, and for a moment Patrick thinks David just took something from Patrick’s closet and put it in the bag, just to make his point that he doesn’t have to change himself for pride. But no, it’s not actually an outfit he already owns, though it’s very similar. It’s short-sleeved for the weather, and it’s a new shade, a jewel blue, and as Patrick runs his hand down the front, skimming the buttons, he’s surprised how soft and nice the fabric is.

He puts the new outfit on, and it fits well. The jeans are nice, too, the label from some fancy-looking brand Patrick’s never heard of. But they’re cut the way some of his favorite jeans are, though he doesn’t think he’s mentioned this to David.

David puts both of his hands on Patrick’s shoulders and guides him to sit in the chair across from him at the table where he’s set up his things. There’s now several bottles, a bowl of water, and a hand towel set out as well.

He can sense that there’s something on David’s mind, and he’s curious. There’s still many things about David that he doesn’t know, but they’ve been together long enough now that he knows not to pry, instead simply waits for him to find the words, find his process.

David takes Patrick’s hands and sets them on the table in front of him.. He opens a small jar from the apothecary, scooping out some of the lavender rosemary sugar scrub and rubbing it into Patrick’s hands in small circles.

“There’s lots of reasons to dress up in all kinds of ways,” he says, carefully scrubbing the tips of his fingers. “Plenty of good reasons too, creative expression, signaling your identity, participating in a community…”

He trails off, dunking Patrick’s hands in the bowl of warm water and rinsing the scrub off. Patrick just sits back, happy to listen and watch David’s gentle, focused work on his hands.

“But when you’re looking for a style for yourself, you should be doing it for _you_. It can be something you experiment with, and it can change with you, but you can’t get all the answers from someone else. There _is_ no right answer. Only you will know what feels right to you, and what you want to look like.”

David takes his hands out of the water, covering them with the towel and squeezing his hands with it, drying them off.

“It’s ok not to know what that is all at once. And just because you’re not confident about wearing something doesn’t necessarily mean it’s wrong for you. Some looks can be more…aspirational. Wearing something that looks like the person you want to be is part of how you become that person.”

David sets the towel down and uncaps a tube of sage and eucalyptus hand cream. He spreads it onto his hands first and then applies it to Patrick. He takes his time with it, spreading the silky lotion between his fingers and massaging it into the heels of his hands. Patrick’s eyes start to drift closed a little, feeling melty and relaxed under David’s touch.

“Do you know why I dress the way I do?” David asks.

Patrick just tilts his head at him.

“Because no one else looks like this.”

“Don’t I know it,” Patrick answers, with a little smile.

David shoots him a look, but smiles too. “I made it part of my identity because my clothes make me feel like _me._ It’s how I want people to see me. But unfortunately, I was not born in a well-curated designer monochrome wardrobe. It took me years to cultivate my style, and in that time I made some loud, bright, and ultimately regrettable choices. But they led me to what I do like.”

Patrick’s eyes widen. “Are you saying _you_ wore _colors_? Is there…photo evidence of this?”

David rolls his eyes. “Maybe. If you’re good.”

Patrick huffs a laugh and bites his lip to disguise the flicker of heat that the words send through him.

David puts his hands down, the lotion having soaked in minutes ago. He rummages in his bag and pulls something small out.

For the first time since he sat down, Patrick sees David hesitate, pausing with a nail polish bottle held just at the edge of the table. He’s looking at Patrick’s hands and his fingers are fidgeting at the cap of the bottle without actually opening it. His eyes flick briefly up to Patrick, as if he doesn’t want to do it without asking but is nervous about actually saying the question out loud.

Patrick notices this and pushes his hands further towards David on the table, fingers splayed out to indicate his approval of this plan.

David looks at him gratefully, then angles Patrick’s hands towards him to his liking. He concentrates on his nails like he’s trying to defuse a bomb, carefully swiping the color down each nail, catching any stray drops before they have time to dry. The color is a royal blue, not exactly the same as the shirt but clearly chosen with care and it matches well. He paints the last pinkie nail and then sits back and caps the bottle, waiting for his reaction.

Patrick holds his hands out, admiring them, then takes David’s face between his palms (fingers outstretched, careful to avoid messing up the paint) and kisses him. “Thank you, David,” he whispers, barely and inch away, “It’s perfect.” He kisses him again.

David is glowing, but he delicately plucks his hands away from his hair and places them back on the table. “You’ve got to let them dry completely. And I’ve got one more thing, for the occasion.”

He takes out a sheet of tiny temporary tattoos of pride flags in all shades, including the rainbow, the sunset-esque pink/purple/blue bi flag, the pink/yellow/blue for pansexual, and many others.

“I know we haven’t really talked about specific labels much yet, so I got a bit of everything,” David says, fidgeting a bit as Patrick looks them over. “But also, if you’re not sure, you can always use the rainbow. It’s…general, as well as specific.”

Patrick looks up in delight at that. “Like the store?”

David sighs. “I don’t know if that’s a direct quote…”

“Want to check?” Patrick teases, reaching for his phone, which contain the voicemails he could, in fact, prove it with.

“I don’t think that’s necessary!” David exclaims, pinning his hands to the table, still cautious of his wet nails. “But yes, ok, I stand by that quote. And it’s an adequate metaphor.”

“Ok then, let’s go with that one.” Patrick taps the rainbow tattoo.

David separates it from the sheet, then shows him where it will go, on the highest point of his cheekbone, and Patrick nods. He peels the plastic backing off and puts it back. David wets the cloth from the bowl and Patrick leans forward to let him hold it against his cheek.

“Now we’ve got to leave it for a full minute, and you’ve got to stay very still,” David says, setting a timer on his phone with his free hand.

Patrick clears his throat. “Um, I think it is specific. For me, I mean.”

David just smiles at him. “Okay.” he says softly. The look at each other seriously for a moment, the conversation continuing without words. The way David looks at him reassures Patrick that he understands what he’s saying.

But then the timer is still going and there’s nothing to do but _keep_ staring into each other’s eyes, and Patrick starts to smile, trying to bite it down. But it’s jostling the tattoo too much, and David frowns at him, bringing his other hand up and squishing his cheeks together, trying to get him to relax his face.

Patrick splutters, failing to holdback a laugh, knowing he must look ridiculous.

“Stay _still,_ dammit,” David pouts. “Stop smiling, you’re going to mess it up!”

“I can’t help it!” Patrick laughs harder. David leans in to give him a very puckered-up kiss, taking a different tactic to get him to stop smiling. And it sort of works, but Patrick keeps giggling into the kiss, and they both get distracted, until suddenly the timer is going off.

David takes the cloth away and rubs away the last of the paper, revealing the rainbow flag, and David’s gaze goes all warm and fuzzy.

“Want to see?” he asks.

Patrick nods, and they go stand in front of the mirror in the bathroom. David stands behind him, both hands on his shoulders, beaming as he watches Patrick take it all in, the perfectly-fitting outfit, the nails, and the pop of bright color on his cheek. Patrick thinks that he looks like himself, but a version on himself that he couldn’t even have dreamed of being a few years ago. David kisses him on the opposite cheek from the flag, and Patrick thinks he’s finally got the feeling that pride is named for.

* * *

When they go to the festival that weekend, Patrick keeps holding his hand. And it’s not like they didn’t hold hands before, but here it seems he’s taking every excuse to grab David’s hand, when they’re sitting at dinner or crossing the street. David wonders if it’s Patrick’s way of showing off to people, of saying _Look, what I found,_ and _Look, I’m a part of this too_.

He especially notices the little surprised, delighted smiles Patrick looks at their clasped hands with, when he sees a bright flash of blue in the sunlight. David feels a sense of calm and pride he so rarely feels, like he’s done a good job, and he’s so glad that he could give him this. He feels like after years of guessing and blindly throwing darts, he’s finally done the right thing. And he’s glad that, of all the things he’s tried, making Patrick happy is one thing he’s succeeded at.

**Author's Note:**

> David does not actually know how to give someone else a manicure and may have spent much of the night before watching youtube tutorials. There was no good way to work this into the story but I wanted y'all to know.


End file.
